No Good Deed
by Val Evenstar
Summary: Think pod-racing, LEP style - fast, dangerous, and not-quite-legal. Will a misunderstanding ruin the race for both competitors?
1. Chapter 1

**No Good Deed**

_by Val Evenstar_

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Chapter One

Captain Trouble Kelp was the best of the best. There was no doubt about it; ask any LEP officer who they respected most, and the answers would always start with Commander Root and Captain Kelp. Kelp was the one fairy who deserved his unusual name, they said. Always managed to make even the worst missions a success while laughing in the face of danger.

Kelp wasn't laughing now. He wasn't in danger, _per se_ – well, at least not the oh-look-there's-a-hungry-charging-troll kind he was used to. No, something much more fragile was at stake – his pride. Trouble Kelp was in serious danger of getting beaten by a girl.

It wasn't that he had something against Holly Short; she was a good officer and had long ago won his respect. It was the losing part that he had a problem with. Kelp gunned the motor on his shuttle as he sped around the curve, and caught a glimpse of the identical shuttle in front of him. Swerving around the usual hazards that lay in Haven's back alleys – recycling bins, broken furniture, and children's toys – he braked as lightly as he dared, swung the shuttle to the left, and jammed the throttle forward to let the acceleration take him around the corner a meter closer to Short's vehicle than he had last been. He gritted his teeth as he saw the low skybridge – more like a hefty ladder jammed between two stories of towering shacks that didn't deserve the name 'apartments' – and sent his shuttle so low it was almost scraping the pavement. But at least he had cleared the obstacle. This course seemed to get more difficult every time, and Kelp knew it wasn't because he was getting old. No, Haven was simply getting messier, in spite of the recently elected Interior Minister, who was even more of a neat freak than Grub. There was a rumor going around that he had colour-coordinated hangers in his sock drawer.

Trouble didn't mind messes; after all, it was his job to clean them up. But he really preferred the ones that involved Neutrinos and handcuffs over the ones conquered by vacuums and scrub-brushes. Though he wouldn't mind a few less obstacles on the race course, naturally. And this semi-legal street racing in police vehicles only tended to add a little bit to the clutter whenever the pilots came too close and turned a house wall into rubble. Not that they were much more than rubble to start with...

Kelp inched up the throttle and worked the rudder controls as he sped down the narrow street at over 400 kilometers per hour. The gap between the two shuttles was closing rapidly, and the captain could feel a grin beginning to form on his face. He'd catch her yet, but this would still be a close race. A good one, too, he'd known since he looked at the race schedule and received several messages from one of his Retrieval commandos complaining about getting beaten by Short. Kelp had wished him better luck next year and inquired curiously about their times. They were nothing amazing; the record was held by one Captain Wood, who had finished in six minutes thirty-five seconds more than a decade ago. Wood was retired now after an incident with a goblin gang, but no one in recent years had managed to come close to beating his time. It seemed to Trouble that times got slower every year; but then again, the shuttles got older every year and as this annual race was not _exactly_ LEP-sponsored, it was next to impossible to replace equipment without a generous donation from an interested party.

Unfortunately, one of the very unsympathetic parties who knew about this little event was the centaur Foaly. He, like most of the higher-ranking LEP officers, turned a blind eye to the pilots' playtime, even though he squawked indignantly to the racers about the utter stupidity of what they were doing before saying in a martyr's tone: "Don't say I didn't warn you. You can go kill yourselves on those little scrap heaps you call shuttles for all I care," and reluctantly handing over the starter chips. Short had challenged him to design a racing shuttle if he was so concerned about their safety, but he had tried to sniff – more like snort - primly and decline, though Trouble had seen something behind the centuar's eyes light up as he turned huffily away. Kelp had a feeling that they would be getting some fantastic new machinery soon, but for now they would make do with their little wrecks.

Trouble stifled a curse and swerved violently to keep his vehicle from becoming both a literal and figurative wreck. Jamming the throttle forward, he struggled to make up for the lost seconds. He would _not_ lose this race, not when it was only the quarterfinals. He hadn't failed to make the semis for the last seven years and wasn't about to start now. Retrieval One was counting on him to show those Recon hotshots that the black-clad commandos could handle a shuttle like they did their guns – fast and accurate, bringing down their enemies every time. So what if the best pilots were usually assigned to Recon – the other branches were not without their stars, and even Recon's standing fifteen consecutive titles wouldn't discourage them from trying to claim the victory.

The course itself was not designed for the faint of heart. Twisting through the back alleys of Haven – the parts the Council preferred to think of as _non-existing_, the race took pilots through narrow, trash-filled streets surrounded by shacks and spurious 'businesses'. Occasionally a drunken fairy would stumble onto the alleyways, which usually resulted in a hasty swerve and a crash, a hasty deceleration and a crash, a hasty hop up and a crash... well, a crash. If it ever ended with the drunk fairy not completely vaporized upon impact, the race would be over and the pilots suspended before Commander Root could shout, "You're fired!". But although several officers had been fired because of excessive building damage, no civilian had ever died because of them. Police officers, of course, were a different matter...

Death wasn't a thing Captain Kelp thought about much, even though he faced it more often than most. So he didn't hesitate to coax the maximum speed out of the aging engines and squeeze up next to Short's shuttle. The wingtips were centimeters apart, the alley barely wide enough to accommodate both of them. According to the rules, she couldn't impede him from passing, but if she wanted to pass him, too... well, the shuttles would stay nose-to-nose until they crashed or one passed the other. Out of the corner of his eye and the cracked plexiglass of his shuttle's cockpit cover, Kelp could see Short's determined face under her light racing helmet. He knew his jaw was set tightly, too; the next corner would determine the leader for the next - and last – two minutes of the race.

It was coming up fast, a four-way intersection that looked like someone had set off a bomb there; a shredded iron bedframe stood bizarrely discarded in the middle, with scraps of what looked like mattress materials scattered about. A four-story building nearby was missing one wall – maybe there _had_ been an explosion; that would explain the charred desk and chairs piled by the left side of the street. The street itself was torn up, too, with large cracks in the pavement and places where the destroyed metal rebar and broken pipes showed through. _Someone should tell the LEP about this_, Kelp thought, but then his entire mind was consumed with slowing for the left turn as he came into it fifty centimeters ahead of Short...

Kelp struggled to keep the shuttle under control; it was at its limit mechanically but what he was asking it to do might just be too much... miss the left wall, hug it tight, swing out twenty centimeters and no more, or else you might hit Short; miss the desk, come in on the right to miss the bedpost and go up to clear the sharp metal, and gain another meter on Short...

His eye saw a blue-green spark and his heart jumped; any fool knew what that was – electricity. He had barely time for a glance before he had to act. A blue spark at the base of a metal bar sticking up in the middle of the street, the kind they use for power strips for roads in the poorer parts of the city. A bar that resembles a meterstick with a tenth of the thickness, a bar he could see out of his right side but _Short couldn't_... she was coming straight on it and would think it no more than a wire, if she saw it at all. The air intakes on these shuttles were underneath them, and if any electricity contacted the engines, more than sparks would fly.

But Kelp didn't have time to think about the consequences. He nudged the rudder pedals, fishtailing his shuttle as it completed the turn, hoping that he put in enough force to swing the end of it against the middle of Short's vehicle and send her clear of the bar without sending her through the buildings lining the street. The cockpit shook upon impact, and he heard the squeal of metal on metal, the change in pitch in Short's engines. Kelp decelerated slightly once he was on a straight road again and risked a glance at his rear camera. Thank God – Short was still there, rounding the corner in a scraped but fully functional shuttle.

And then Captain Kelp's eyes widened as he realised three things.

One, he had just disqualified himself from the race.

Two, Short was going to kill him.

And three – she might beat him to the finish line anyway.

He pushed the throttle all the way in.

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**A/N:** Because, unfortunately, if you want to read good fanfic too often it means you have to write it yourself. Especially in a series where (I think at least) the minor characters are more fun than the major ones, who get pretty tiresome after doing the same thing for four books. Anyway, I hope others share my opinion about this piece - and no, it is not romance. There actually _is_ a way to write fic without pairings!! Ok, rant over. I'll post the next two chapters tomorrow. In the meantime, please let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Captain Holly Short was mad. For the first time in her life, she could understand why her commander changed colours; she could feel herself growing red as she desperately ran her hands over the controls, cutting throttle, banking left, trying to avoid the building...

She heard a screech as her shuttle's side contacted the wall and slammed the throttle in as she jerked the steering yoke hard left. The shuttle slid along the building's side for a few feet before rocketing off around the corner. Short didn't have time for a breath of relief, though; it had been a close call – too close even for her comfort – but Kelp was now several meters ahead of her. Absolutely unacceptable.

Holly tried to give him the benefit of the doubt – she really did – for about five seconds. Yes, the intersection was not supposed to be that nightmarish, and yes, trying to pass her on the inside on a turn was risky. But fishtailing around the corner was for beginners. You did not graduate from the LEP academy by fishtailing. Even if the shuttle was old, falling apart at the seams, and breaking the speed limit several times over, a decent pilot did not fishtail. Captain Trouble Kelp, who had held the core-diving record up until four years ago, did not do this without a purpose.

Short had never thought that his purpose would be to cheat, though right now she couldn't sanely say it was anything else. Her anger flared. So what if the rivalry was intense? He could've killed her, and she'd actually counted him as one of her friends. She'd worked with him on only a few missions, true, but on every single one of them he'd lived up to his poster-boy image as the LEP's finest. Like most of the junior officers who knew him, she'd looked up to him – and, privately, she'd also looked forward to smashing his records.

Well, now was as good a day as any to start. Holly pulled in the flaps to streamline her shuttle and accelerated full throttle. There was no way under the Earth that Kelp was going to win this one.

With less than two minutes left in the race, Short would be hard pressed to gain her lost seconds. She was a bit surprised that Kelp hadn't built up a bigger lead than he had; he was only five meters ahead when he could've been at least ten. Oh well. The idiot couldn't even cheat properly – all the better for Holly.

The gap between the shuttles was closing now. If she came another half a meter closer, Kelp would have to pull to the side to let her try to pass. That is, if he was still playing by the rules, Short thought sourly. She felt her shuttle scrape against a low-hanging sign; she had hopped up by about a meter to clear an obstacle, and she used her momentum as she came down to slide up to a position ten centimeters from the back of Kelp's shuttle. As the vehicle in front of her slid to the left to make way for her, she deftly maneuvered her shuttle close to fill the gap. They were coming up on the final two turns before the last straight, an area that was relatively free of obstructions – but like all things in this race, that could never be guaranteed.

Instead of cutting throttle as she turned, Short threw out her flaps, hearing them screech in protest, as she hauled on the rudder controls, praying that she hadn't signed her death sentence. The turn wasn't as tight as she'd hoped – out of the corner of her eye, she saw an unhappy Kelp maneuvering to get clear of her – but it was fast. She came out sure she had a few centimeters on her adversary.

There was still another turn left, but there were red lights blinking on her instrument panel, and one flap was jammed in place. Holly took the next turn the conventional way and jettisoned the faulty flap as she coaxed maximum speed out of the aging shuttle. It was now or never...

Making minor adjustments to avoid walls, curbs, and street signs, Short gritted her teeth and tried to keep as straight a line as she could. After all, it was the fastest way to the finish line. The final straight was a rather long street that took about ten seconds to traverse. The LEP had set a small camera at a buildings to either side of the 'finish line' – a small cross-street, little more than a sidewalk, that intersected this one. Holly couldn't see them of course; she could barely see the finish line in the dark, poorly-lit area.

It didn't matter. She had counted to nine when her lights illuminated the cross-street, and the next second she was across it, desperately cutting throttle and braking to try to slow down before she ran out of road. Beside her, Kelp was doing the same.

Holly could feel the adrenaline pumping through her body and took a deep, shaky breath as she guided the shuttle slowly (fifteen kilometers above the speed limit was slow for her) back to the main highway. It would take them twenty minutes to get back to Police Plaza, and by tradition the pilots wouldn't find out who won until they arrived. They were also required to keep radio silence – a rule Short would be more than happy to break right now. She needed to yell at a certain someone. She keyed on the transmitter and immediately winced at the staticky screech it emitted. Turning down the volume, she entered a frequency and was surprised when nothing changed. With a groan she remembered the top of her vehicle scraping a sign of some sort. Short growled a curse and reminded herself to annoy Foaly into getting some new racing shuttles fast; these old models – probably at least hundred years old – still used wire antennas. Hers had most likely fallen victim to the sign.

_Well_, she thought, _at least this will give you a chance to calm down, take a deep breath and try to get to a point where you won't shoot Kelp the instant you get out of this shuttle..._

Holly almost laughed at herself. Twenty minutes was way to short a time to forget what had happened. Someone was in serious trouble, and she was not about to let him off the hook.

One thing no one could accuse Holly Short of was not knowing herself. She knew exactly who she was and how she would act in a given situation. Even ones involving homicidal fairies and annoying, way-too-intelligent young Mud Men holding her for ransom. So it was no surprise to Holly when she stepped out of her shuttle as angry as she had been when she'd finished the race.

"KELP!!" she hollered, fully aware that her commander's habits were rubbing off on her. Next thing you know, she'd be smoking cigars. "WHAT UNDER THE EARTH WAS THAT ABOUT??"

Captain Kelp tugged off his helmet to reveal a confused 'who, me?' expression that Holly usually saw on his brother.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," she fumed, not bothering to lower her volume. If Kelp wasn't going to own up and take it like a man, he deserved every bit and more of her tirade.

Understanding dawned and he winced. "About that, Short - "

"Yes, what about that?" she demanded. "Were you trying to get us both killed, or just me?"

"Short, listen - "

"And don't you dare say that was an accident. I know perfectly well what you can do with a shuttle, but I didn't think _cheating_ was one of them," she said scathingly.

"Of course it wasn't an accident - "

"Well it didn't do you much good, did it? I bet I won anyway." She was practically yelling in his face now; she had to make a conscious effort not to crack him over the head with her helmet.

Kelp stepped back and made calming gestures with his hands. "Shut up and let me explain -"

"Explain what? That Retrieval is so desperate they can't race fair and square anymore?" It was a low hit, she knew, but right now she didn't care.

"HOLLY!"

Short backed up a step in surprise at the use of her first name. Then she swallowed nervously; she had never seen Trouble this angry before. His face was dark, green eyes flashing fire; his mouth was pressed into a tight line. Every centimeter of his bearing – and he had a few more than she did, unfortunately – demanded her attention and respect. No wonder this guy was Root's 2IC.

"Yessir?" she squeaked, and immediately hated herself for it.

An amused half-smile flitted across Kelp's face, his expression of the moment before instantly evaporating. Holly wanted to punch him; of all the nerve, _laughing_ at her!

"Keep your hair on, Captain, and see if you can make it to the Ops booth without killing me. There's something I think you should see."

He turned and started walking away. Holly stood, fuming at life in general for a moment, and then followed.

"Oh, and Short?" He stopped and faced her, then touched his brow with his hand in a salute to the victor. "Congratulations."

She blinked, and then a slow, ridiculous smile started spreading across her face. She'd kill Trouble later, but right now... oh, how she loved the taste of triumph!

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**A/N: **I have never really liked Holly Short. True, she was good for a few laughs and I must admit the first two books were rather good. But then the capriciousness and I-never-think-before-I-act-but-things-always-turn-out-ok-anyway-because-the-author-makes-it-that-way thing she has going started annoying me. I suppose it appeals to this generation's tendency to not think of consequences - or others - and just go with 'what feels right' at the moment. Anyway, where was I? Oh. This is why she is portrayed here in what is probably a less positive view than you're used to. Rant over. Review, please? Next chapter coming soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Holly sat dumbly in the chair as Captain Kelp froze the images on the monitors. One showed the view from the front of the cockpit, and the other showed the side view from his. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Of course, since this was Foaly's domain, there was always the possibility that that could happen. She waited a second, hoping.

The floor stayed solid.

Holly sighed. She hated swallowing her pride, but the alternative was appearing like an immature idiot in front of two of her friends. Not that she hadn't already, she remembered, blushing furiously. "I guess I owe you an apology," she muttered quickly, barely audible.

Trouble coughed. "Er, well. As long as you don't whack me with that" - he indicated her helmet, which she realised she was clutching like it was a bowling ball ready to hurl - "consider it accepted."

Short managed a smile and loosened her grip on her helmet. "Thanks."

"I'm amazed you survived, Holly," Foaly broke in from where he, too, was examining the videos from the race, despite his supposed hatred of the event. "The way that flea-trap is constructed, it's a miracle you managed to start it in the first place. Did you know it depends on a _nickel-cadmium _battery? That's a disgrace to the day and age!"

The two captains exchanged glances. "You can say that again."

"Have you seen the finish vid yet?" the centaur asked. "You can see Holly's flap coming off and barely missing her rudder! You know, instead of ejecting dysfunctional pieces, you should just blow them up."

"Great idea, Foaly," Short said smoothly. "And do you know what? I bet you could build a better racer for less money than the commercial companies do."

He snorted, but it was a proud snort. "I could. But don't think I know what you're trying to do, Holly."

She wasn't paying attention, though. She was busy playing the view from the finish line cameras in slow motion, a smile across her lips.

Foaly tapped a monitor to her left. "Here's the picture at the line," he said.

Holly looked at the frozen frame, and her smile became slightly smug.

"Guess who won," she couldn't help saying.

"You," Kelp stated, then joined her in examining the photo. "But only by ten centimeters."

"Mmm." Short wasn't that happy about her slim margin of victory.

"If I hadn't slowed down to check on you, you would never have caught me," Kelp said, a trifle discontent also. "Of course, you would've won anyway," he added with a bit of distaste.

Holly would have had no problem rubbing it in if he hadn't disqualified himself saving her. That put a damper on her fun, and in fact prompted her to do something extremely generous. "If you want, I won't mention to anyone that you bumped me."

"No, you don't have to do that," Trouble said quickly.

"It's no problem, really," she said, using her grandmother's favorite phrase and feeling polite enough to be acceptable at a fancy banquet.

"No, you don't need to," Kelp repeated.

Short looked at him curiously. "Why in Haven not?" She'd felt sure he'd want to keep his reputation in tact.

"Well.." Kelp cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed. "You see... no offense, but... I'd rather be disqualified that be... beaten by a girl."

Holly's jaw dropped. Foaly snickered despite himself. "Retrieval boys," he muttered.

Trouble shrugged. "We've got our pride."

Holly stood and shoved her helmet at him, hard. Furious, she stomped out of the room. Semifinals? Bring it on. Retrieval was going _down_.

But she couldn't help joining in softly with the chuckles that followed her out the door.

_- Fin -_

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**A/N:** The title of the story, in case you were wondering, is taken from the song in Wicked in which Elphaba asks: "Was I really seeking good/ Or just seeking attention?/ Is that all good deeds are/ When looked at with an ice cold eye?" Her answer is different from the one I give here, of course. Anyway, thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think of it! I may write a few more oneshots for AF, but my best work is done for Narnia.


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